


Scars

by NicoAndTheNineGalaxies



Series: Vent Fics [6]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, help me....? please.........?, logan is sleep-deprived dehydrated and doesn't eat enough, patton has a bit of an eating disorder and he self-harms, roman is sort of okay, this is a mess, vent fic, virgil self-harms and has depression+anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoAndTheNineGalaxies/pseuds/NicoAndTheNineGalaxies
Summary: Virgil Doyle couldn’t go crazy.  He was the voice of reason amongst his friends, especially when Logan was too sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and starved half to death to even think.  Virgil didn’t have enough time for a breakdown.  He had people depending on him.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by real events.  
> You don't need to read this if you don't want to.  
> If you do read this, I hope you like it.  
> Galaxy ||-//

The door slammed behind his parents as they left, and Virgil was alone.

Alone in the dark, alone with his memories, alone with his thoughts.

_ Crying in the shower, tearing at his wrists and thighs with the razor. _

_ Sobbing in the bathroom at school, trying desperately to do some sort of damage with his scissors. _

_ Refusing to shower for weeks, because the razor - his main method - always seemed to be taunting him. _

_ Wanting to get better. _

_ Getting better. _

_ Relapsing. _

_ Almost relapsing. _

_ Almost relapsing again. _

_ Almost relapsing a third time. _

_ The sadness in his father’s eyes when he finally found out. _

_ The white-hot fear that flashed through Virgil’s veins, just like the blood that trickled from them whenever he...when he… _

He ran his fingers over the most recent cuts, mostly healed and beginning to fade.  Fifteen days. He was fifteen days clean, if he counted today.

Virgil snapped the rubber band against his wrist, the one Patton had wanted to take because his ex-boyfriend, Damien (or Deceit, as he’d come to be known within their friend group, a tribute to the lies he’d told to woo Logan, and then Patton too), had always had a rubber band that he would snap against himself, other people, or really anything within arm’s reach.  But Damien hadn’t had these issues.

Virgil eventually confessed to Patton that it was his coping mechanism, and Patton had frowned before nodding sympathetically.

Virgil tried not to look at the bracelets wrapped around Patton’s too-thin wrist, the bracelets that they both knew were hiding the same things Virgil’s hoodie did.

Was he a terrible person for wishing he had scars?  He just wanted to see evidence - of his breakdowns, of his anxiety attacks, of his depression - etched into his skin.  He wanted to know he wasn’t going crazy.

Because Virgil Doyle couldn’t go crazy.  He was the voice of reason amongst his friends, especially when Logan was too sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and starved half to death to even think.  Virgil didn’t have enough time for a breakdown. He had people depending on him.

_ The tears in Roman’s eyes when Virgil finally confessed about the cutting. _

_ The promises. _

_ I promised him,  _ Virgil thought faintly.   _ I promised Roman that I wouldn’t cut again.  I can’t break my promise. _

_ But I  _ **_need_ ** _ to see the marks,  _ another part of him countered.   _ What Roman doesn’t know can’t hurt him.  It’s perfectly fine. _

_ To hurt myself?  _  Virgil demanded.   **_That’s_ ** _ fine? _

Trying to pull himself from his thoughts, Virgil sent a quick text to his boyfriend, Roman.  Just a casual “Hey.”

His gaze lingered for a few minutes on the rainbow and the heart next to Roman’s contact name in his phone.  Patton’s idea, of course. Back before Patton told them that he was horribly, irreparably broken. Back before Patton stopped eating breakfast and dinner, maybe having some of Virgil’s food at lunch if they were lucky - and even then, it was only a few crackers, because Virgil was always too tired to pack himself a proper lunch.

Back before, when everyone thought everyone else was okay.

Back before, when they could pretend.

But they couldn’t pretend anymore.  Everything went wrong before they’d even met each other.  There was no way to stop it.

None of them had ever stood a chance.

 

Virgil clutched his phone to his chest with one hand, his sharpest pair of scissors clasped in the other.

Was he really going to do this?  _  Could _ he do this?

Roman wasn’t going to text back.  But he was probably just busy.

With a deep breath, Virgil dug the sharp edge of the scissors into his wrist, gasping at the sting.  It was the deepest he’d ever cut, he could already tell.

But he knew he had to cut deeper.

He had to leave scars.

 

Roman smiled at Virgil when they saw each other at school the next morning, and Virgil almost burst into tears right then and there.  When Roman saw something was wrong, his gaze softened with concern.

“Did something happen last night, Virge?” He asked gently.

Virgil just pulled up his sleeves to show the numerous band-aids he’d applied to his cuts the night before and Roman looked like he might cry.

“Please don’t be sad, or angry,” Virgil begged.  “I just - it was too much. I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m not angry,” Roman assured him.  “Can I hug you?”

Virgil nodded, biting back a sob as Roman pulled him close, one hand stroking his back soothingly as he buried his face in Roman’s shoulder, breathing him in.  He always smelled comforting, like home, like a theater and something else unidentifiable, something Virgil could never get enough of.

“I love you,” Virgil murmured, feeling Roman’s breath on his neck and relishing in the knowledge that they were so close, both emotionally and physically.

“I love you, too,” Roman whispered.  “Please remember that. And try not to do it again.”

With any luck, these would be the cuts that scarred, and then Virgil would never have to do it again.  He’d be able to look at the scars and pretend he’d already done something.

“I won’t,” Virgil promised, hoping he could keep the promise this time.

“I love you,” Roman repeated once more before finally loosening his grip.

But Virgil just shifted closer.  “I love you, too. I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

“Don’t be,” Roman assured him.  “It happens, right? You can - we can get through this.  You won’t be alone, no matter what.”

Virgil offered him a weak smile as the bell rang.  “I guess we’re late.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Roman said, but Virgil pulled away nonetheless.

“I love you,” he whispered once more, pressing a gentle kiss to Roman’s lips, which Roman returned so softly, so caringly that Virgil once more feared he may start crying in the middle of the now empty hallway.

“I love you, too,” Roman said, his voice insistent.  “Please believe me.”

“I do.”  Virgil nodded.  “See you at lunch.”

“See you then.”

 

That night was another bad night.  Virgil’s brother told him he was selfish and lazy, a worthless, ungrateful waste of space.

Disappearing into his dark room, Virgil cried.

He tried to stop himself.  He really did.

But he knew he had to cut deeper.

He had to leave scars.


End file.
